And if I get a morsel, my Jenny shall be fed;
Then do not weep so sore, for I hope we know the worst,
And to see you look so dismal my heart it will burst.
Old grannum she will help us, and work for to maintain;
And when I am bigger, I’ll pay it all again.
Tho’ as yet I cannot dig, yet a gleaning I may go,
Then stop your tears, my Jenny, for I cannot see them flow.
When I pass thro’ the church yard, where Daddy is at rest;
I cannot help sobbing, and a sigh will heave my breast:
And I think to myself, if my Jenny too should die,